100 Writing Prompts
by Dance of the Dead
Summary: I know the title is lame - but I am attempting to write the 100 writing prompt challenge for Rambo and Kiz. As a full story this won't make any sense. They're individual scenes inspired by the words of the prompts. They're something fun for me to enjoy writing and will skip in temperament for the characters from scene to scene. Working with a 500 word limit for each scene. Enjoy
1. 001 Introduction

"Remember when we met?" Kiz asked down the static line. She'd been called in, in place of another to drag Rambo out of some pretty deep shit. On the journey across the country she had wondered why. She owed him no favours and most of her memories about the man were nothing short of bitter. Yet she had come anyway. All she knew he was up in a fox-hole somewhere up and they wanted a friendly voice to simply speak to him. Before he managed to do anything completely reckless. She wasn't sure she'd even get an answer from him.

"Are you hearing me, Raven?" She asked once more, intruding on a name that was deeply personal. Kiz tried not to nose her way in on the mans life, that wasn't how their relationship worked. How they worked was a lot more complicated than that.

"This is Winter, calling Raven. Come in, Raven. Over." She started again, her voice taking on a more serious tone of voice. She knew he was listening, she just knew it. Kiz repeated the statement twice over, giving time between the broadcasts for Rambo to think.

Through a belch of static eventually a reply came. "This is Raven to Winter, I'm receiving you, Over."

He expected a reply, that was good. Yet Kiz had no idea what to say, she'd been brought here as a weak link, a lead to get a fix on his location. The moment she'd heard his slurred voice she felt like caving in on herself. How could she betray the man she owed her life too? Because it was her job.

"You're in a heap of shit, Raven." She told him honestly, the man hunt forming around her was more than evident of that particular truth. "What did you do this time? Over" She asked, knowing that the techs were using her conversation as a means to track his signal.

"Trying to survive, Winter. You know what it's like, Over." She felt her emotions tightening around her throat. She did know exactly what it was like, being good for one thing and one thing alone. A puppet, a tool, a killing machine. He was still running, why couldn't she?

"Come back to us, Johnny." She managed through the constriction. She wanted to scream to him, beg him to return to a normal sense of life – no matter how impossible that would be for him.

"I can't do that, Winter." He replied and she raised her head and let a single tear run down her cheek for her betrayal and the words she was forced to say next. "I remember, you were I chains." He answered her first question.

"Keep running, John Rambo, Keep running, they're sending me in after you. Out" She put the radio down. There was nothing more to say. With a calmness that she didn't feel and moved to the tent behind her wiping the tear from her cheek. _Bastards. _Was all she could think, over and over.


	2. 002 Complicated

Sometimes they went days without speaking to one another. Not purposefully, not through anything as foolish or basic as an argument, but just because there was no point in saying a single word. Not to say that they didn't argue sometimes, a conflict of emotion or just because one of them was overcome with the desire to push their alpha needs onto the other. Yet they'd become so attuned to the way one another worked and thought that there was no need for words any longer, and yet somehow they still needed one another. The only company either one could stand for any length of time.

Their attempts at a more regular life ended up in drastic failure with either one of them going off the rails and making a gigantic mess of what life they had tried to make. It had been silently decided that one last try would be away from a vast population centrec where no one could get hurt but themselves, yet not to far removed from humanity that they couldn't escape one another's overpowering personalities. Rambo gave Kiz a passing glance as he left the wooden shack they both called home. Their needs had become more and more basic as they'd moved around. She had a job somewhere local, he didn't ever ask her what doing. All he knew was that Kiz drove away for a few days at a time for both work and space. While he tended a small-holding. A couple of pigs, chickens. The basics that they needed for food and a well for water. The work was tiring and enough of a task to keep him fit physically, but it gave him to much time to think and reflect on the past. He tried to push it aside, but it was always in the background, telling him he was rotting out here in the heat. That he didn't deserve to be here after all he had been through – that he shouldn't have been the only survivor.

Rambo suddenly felt conscious that he was being watched, and as he turned he saw Kiz standing in the doorway, she looked rough with dark tiredness around her eyes. Her arms were bruised as well, he didn't know how that had happened. She was studying him with her cold eyes and he knew better not to press her, so all he offered was a small nod towards her. He watched the corners of her mouth twitch in confliction of pretending to be happy and thoughts tearing herself from the inside out.

It was only a matter of time before one of them flew off the handle again, but there was no where better to do it than in the company of one another. Their relationship was perfect for those moments of darkest depravity, deepest regret and harrowing disaster – but in every other, more normal, way it was utterly complicated.


	3. 003 Making History

It was a brilliantly warm sunny day, the sunlight glinted majestically off the dark colour of Rambo's Ray-bans. The sound of parade erupted around the two of them. Marching bands followed truck led floats carrying beauty pageants and veterans alike. The celebration was in full swing although he knew he shouldn't he hoisted Kiz onto his shoulder effortlessly. She squealed in protest until she was passed an American Flag on a long pole, which she held protectively in both hands. She raised the flag high and waved it. It felt like a dream to be accepted into such a strange fold. No. Not a dream. A nightmare.

Rambo couldn't begin to imagine what the celebration was all about, there was nothing remotely noble about bearing arms against another person. Nor was there any glory in coming home with your tail between your legs in defeat, but he supposed this was the American way of dealing with such tragedies. They followed a float for a while, Kiz atop her noble human steed, until they found the stop off point. A brass band was leading the floats by with their perfect rendition of the national anthem. The viewing crowd all on their feet in silence. On stage behind the band a brilliant banner of red, white and blue in glamorous 40's style patterns. Off to the side of the stage a falconer held some meat in his hands waiting to reward his trained bald eagle which was soaring overhead.

Slowly, Kiz eased herself down from Rambo's shoulder when she noticed he had stopped walking. She landed on the pavement with brace to her knees to absorb the shock of the fall. When she looked, she knew the look on his face even behind the dark shades.

"Sickening, isn't it?" She huffed, wondering why she'd been dragged along to such a vile show of over the top patriotism.

Rambo nodded his head, she could see the tight clenching of his jaw. Where had all this been when he had actually needed the support from his nation? Running in the opposite direction, spitting at his face and shouting wicked names behind a chain link fence. Ingrates. Every single one of them. Now look. Celebrating something they'd lost the true memory of. Veterans now were applauded, cherished even. Back then it was a completely different story. Carefully Kiz put the flag pole against the wall and sighed, if only there could be a day where they didn't have to carefully tread on glass with conflicting emotions – desired acceptance and rejection that he had long thought overcome. No one here knew him, what he had been through. As he turned his back on Kiz and the gather crowd to stalk off, Kiz fell silently in step behind him.

He'd made history once, given these people his all to keep communism from invading their doors – now, all that history had been polluted into... this. This strange, extravagant farce that he assumed tried to cover up the wicked actions on his home soil against him. This history wasn't his. His involved an M16, a combat knife and the rawest hatred any man could feel.


	4. 004 Rivalry

He was pissed, that feeling of utter inner anger that often showed it's face when he was being pushed. He'd gone into a total irrational lock down within himself and he wore the look particularly well in his expression. Not for the first time Rambo checked the pistol, he only had four shots left. Four shots to finish this nice and clean before having to go in and get dirty, hand to hand. A quick brief glance around the walls corner showed an empty parking lot, a shot was fired in his direction spraying chalk dust into his eyes as he dipped back into cover. A floodlight was pointed in the direction where his head had been. He cursed under his breath and tried to shake the dust from his vision.

He couldn't allow her to get the upper hand, not this time. Quickly he moved along the wall away from the anticipating light, as a jeer shot across the parking lot. "Come on Johhny, you can do better than that."

Rambo knew what she was doing, trying to provoke him into a mindless fury. So far it was working. He climbed on top of a garbage disposal unit and hoisted himself up onto a roof. Keeping himself low as he edged along it. He only had mere seconds before the light found him again. In that time he lent over the ledge and fired a single shot, shattering out the light. Glass flying every direction dramatically.

"Going to be like that, huh?" He heard another jeering scream as a couple of shots were fired towards him, but he'd long since moved from the spot. Three shots left in his pistol. He needed to get up on that roof behind her. He lowered himself from his own roof circling back around to where the light had caught him – a bold move, but she'd expect him to be more cautious. He dipped behind a car in the parking lot, carefully stalking from one piece of precarious cover to the next. Eventually he ran full pelt before ramming flat against the wall. He surveyed the scene carefully, even though it was dark now the flood light was off.

There was a metal rung ladder which he silently pulled himself up. To his surprise she was still looking the other way when he came up behind her. His pistol levelled given enough time to aim, he shot her twice. Leg, shoulder. As she fell, twisting towards him, her own gun fired a single shot caught him in the arm.

His last bullet was reserved for her head and while she deserved it for the bold words she had spoken and the rage she had inflicted instead he holstered the weapon and held his hand out to her silently to help her to her feet. She accepted gracefully, limping slightly. Her trouser leg and shoulder covered in paint. The balls from the pistol stung, but were mostly harmless. She couldn't help a wry smile as she noticed the small dribble of paint down his arm – at least she had hit him, even if it was through a mistake that could have meant her death if they were ever against one another in the field.


End file.
